


Is This the Way You Come Undone

by SongAboutExiles



Series: Our Better Angels [4]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, Heartache, Immortals Aren't Human, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 11:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14354544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongAboutExiles/pseuds/SongAboutExiles
Summary: "We are strange creatures, are we not?""But we pretend to be human so well," Duncan murmured.**Methos leaves Joe to go to Seacouver and deal with his affairs. Those affairs include one big, angsty Scot.





	Is This the Way You Come Undone

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry (?) for the very long installment.

Methos had left a lot of people, a lot of things, in his time. Standing in Joe's flat as the taxi pulled up outside felt ridiculously, unhealthily painful, especially when Joe was trying to put on a brave face for the both of them. They both knew perfectly fucking well that it was silly to be this upset, but there it was. 

"Gonna miss you, old man." Joe reached up to cup Methos' face and draw their foreheads together. 

"Gonna miss you, too, old man," Methos murmured quietly. "I'll be back as soon as I possibly can." And when he came back, he would be another person. Adam Pierson, nouveau riche multi-millionaire. One thing would be the same - he'd still be Adam Pierson, hopelessly in love with Joe Dawson. 

Joe moved in for the goodbye kiss. It caught, burst into flames, started frying all of Methos' better judgment and good intentions. Why leave? This was everything. Joe's tongue pressed to his, that ineffable, addictive taste flooding his mouth, and Methos dropped his ratty duffel bag to wrap his arms tighter around Joe. 

The taxi blared its horn, and Methos answered his own question. Why leave? Because Joe was too precious to lose, Joe deserved the best of everything, Joe needed him and he needed Joe. He forced himself to separate from the familiar warmth of Joe's body. 

"Time to go. I love you." Methos picked up his bag again with a heavy sigh.

"I love you, too. Call me?" Joe looked about as forlorn as Methos felt. 

"Try and stop me." Methos made it all the way to the door before he heard Joe's whispered 'be safe.' 

"I'll be home with you soon. I swear it." After that, Methos had to just get out, force himself into the back of the taxi, before he said fuck it all. 

The plane trip was relatively bearable from the comfort of first class, but that didn't change the fact that it was a hell of a long series of flights to get from Paris to Seacouver. The distance gave him all the time in the world to miss Joe and worry over Mac. The lawyers, obtaining the trappings of money - that would be easy if tedious. Mac was a completely unknown quantity at this point. 

When he finally landed and turned his phone back on, there were several rather mushy texts from Joe that had undoubtedly mortified him to type. Those he answered immediately. But when he checked his email, Methos broke out in a genuine smile. It was ready. 

There was a driver stationed with all the others with the name 'PIERSON' on a tablet in front of him, and Methos sauntered up looking decidedly unlike anyone who'd ordered a town car to wait for him at the airport. The driver sized him up, shrugged, and took his surprisingly heavy duffel bag out to the gleaming black car. 

When asked if he was going to his hotel, Methos shook his head and gave him an address in an unfortunate neighbourhood. The trip took twenty minutes, and in that time he texted with Joe and confirmed the many, many appointments on his calendar for tomorrow. 

The car pulled up in front of a pawn shop, and Methos gave the driver an extra forty dollars for waiting with his nice car in such a sketchy part of town. He hopped out and went inside, finding it just the way he'd left it - full of the usual dubious merchandise of questionable provenance, but with items in the back cabinets under lock, key and alarm that you'd be hard-pressed to find in the best museum displays. "Dimi?" he called out.

"Adam!" Dimi was tall and broad and with tattooed arms on display that dissuaded trouble as surely as the shotgun he kept behind the counter. "I didn't think I'd ever be seeing you again, and then you call me out of nowhere!" 

Methos shook the man's hand firmly. "Like I said, it's time for an upgrade. Show me my new baby, please." He grinned wolfishly.

"Nursery is right this way." Dimi led him to a workshop in the back through a hidden door, also alarmed just to be safe. Rows of blades hung from the walls, all of them works of art down to the tiniest throwing knife. Methos cast them a quick glance, but his gaze fixated on the worktable, where a longsword lay on a black velvet base. 

"Oh, she's beautiful," Methos murmured appreciatively, taking in the details before even picking it up. Leaner than his current sword, wickedly sharp blade, the folded carbon steel combining the best swordmaking traditions of East and West. The pommel was tightly wrapped in black leather, and the cross guard was smaller and less cumbersome to handle. 

And when he did pick it up, he almost felt he was cheating on Joe he loved it so much. He hadn't loved a weapon in a long, long time. To him, they were tools of last resort, when shooting and running away didn't work out so well. But this...this was a work of art. Full tang, weighted perfectly for his hand. It felt good there. Reminded him of the dark glory of a good, bloody fight. 

Methos had thought of the possible consequences of his love for Joe. If he'd been honourable like Mac, he would have bravely turned away and let the man go to protect him. Now, holding this sword, he knew why he hadn't. Something terrible arose in his soul, so long buried, a moonless tide of violence and purpose. Let them come. And let Joe never know, in all his life, the things Methos would do to protect him. He was five thousand years of fury and woe betide any Immortal who tried to take Joe from him. 

Dimi, who dealt almost exclusively with Immortals, seemed to know that Methos was having a moment, so he made himself scarce in the front of the shop. Methos gripped the black leather pommel almost painfully tight, then forced his fingers to relax into a proper fighting configuration. He shucked his coat off and let it drop on the floor, then flowed into movement, testing the weight in his palm, the speed at which the blade could travel. It really was entirely perfect. 

After several minutes, he came back to himself enough to slide the sword into its oiled leather sheath. He picked up his coat and slid the sword into the hidden pocket and walked back into the shop. 

"You've outdone yourself. This is a masterpiece." Methos pulled out his card. "Add an additional five thousand to the agreed-upon price."

Even with the added 'tip' it was worth every cent. Dimi was grinning as he completed the transaction. "I must admit, I almost hate to see her go."

"I'm sure you'll find some way to comfort yourself." Methos grinned - he'd just given the man a small fortune, after all. 

"You'll see the Highlander while you are here?" At Methos' short, sharp nod, Dimi continued. "You tell him I say it's time I went over that katana of his properly. He uses it so much." Methos wasn't the only one in the room with a sly sense of humour. 

"I'll do that." Methos left the shop and slid back into the town car. "Now we can go to the hotel." He pulled out his phone and texted Joe. 

//Just bought a new toy. Can't wait to show you.//

//At least you're having fun.//

At the hotel, Methos took a long shower to wash off the musty feeling of being on a plane for a day. He'd thought he was exhausted, but the moment he slid naked into the decadent bed, he was wide awake. Wide awake and incredibly horny. Regular, intense sex had turned his sleeping libido into a beast to reckon with. 

He checked the time, and decided it was far too late (early?) to call Joe. Bloody time zones. Nothing for it, then. Throwing off the covers, Methos spread his thighs and ran his fingers over his nipples, pinching them hard and making his aching cock twitch against his belly. His hands would never feel as good as Joe's, but he had an excellent imagination. 

For instance, he imagined Joe's solid weight between his thighs as he scratched his blunt nails over his nipples, not stopping until the buds of flesh were taut and pebbled and his cock was begging for attention. 

His back arched, and he remembered Joe's whiskey-tinged voice in his ear, murmuring the sweetest obscenities. Methos spread his thighs even more, till he could feel the faintest burn of complaint from even his limber joints. Joe always felt so good on top of him, and oh gods, that painful anticipation, waiting for his thick shaft to push inside him, was always exquisite. 

He sucked two fingers into his mouth to wet them, then cocked up a leg enough to push them roughly into his empty hole. A long moan escaped him, equal parts arousal and frustration when it just wasn't enough. Finally, he wrapped his other hand around his prick, the fantasy morphing in his fevered imagination.

Joe was there, in the bed with him, watching him with hot, hungry eyes, his own hand stroking his cock. Oh yes, they could look at each other, but not touch. Why hadn't he visited this sweet torture upon Joe yet? Oh, would he even have the patience? Or would he yank Methos' fingers free and hold him down and fill him up before the game was even properly begun?

Gods, it would be delicious, the tension so palpable they could breathe it in the space between them. Methos moaned, the image filling in so clearly behind his closed eyes. "Joe, fuck, yes..." Or would he be the one to break first? To push Joe down on the bed and straddle his cock? He was usually such a patient creature, content to wait and watch, and so was Joseph. But would either of them pass this little test?

In the fantasy, he was the one who broke, and his hand sped up on his cock as he imagined crawling, shaking, to Joe, who was laughing and moaning at the same time. He snatched Joe's hand away and pulled him down onto the bed flat on his back, swinging a long leg over his hips and letting himself sink down at last onto the thick hardness he was craving so desperately. It burned in the best way, healed almost immediately, and he rode Joe like his life depended on it. 

Joe's strong hands gripped his hips and he drove up every time Methos ground down onto him. It wouldn't last long, it couldn't, not when they'd been teasing each other for so very long. Why should it? They didn't need to deny themselves. 

The fantasy split at the seams when Methos came, shuddering with the unexpected strength of it, the searing sense of completion and bereft emptiness tearing at his mind. It was a confounding mess of emotion, but damned if he didn't make a mess of his hand and his belly all the same, his ass clenching down almost painfully on his fingers. 

It took him long moments to come back to himself, and when he did he licked the seed from his fingers and wished it was Joe's. Fuck, he had it bad. He was lost, he was mad, he was...happy. Not happy to be separated, but happy knowing Joe would be there in their home when he returned. 

A secret smile curved his lips, and he rolled over and pulled the covers up again, grabbing the other pillow to clutch to his chest. The jet lag caught up to him, and he cursed when he remembered he had to set an alarm on his phone. That task barely achieved, he let himself sleep.

The alarm was set for seven, but a few minutes before it had a chance to go off, his mobile dinged. Methos rolled over and grabbed for it blearily, dropped it onto the carpet, cursed some more, and retrieved it to read a text from Joe. 

//It's hell to sleep without you. I hope you know what you've done to me.//

//Pretty sure I do, since I had to have an epic wank session last night just to get my eyes closed.//

//Jesus, old man.// There was a pause. //Me, too.//

Methos grinned, and hit Joe's number. He had to hear that voice. When Joe answered, Methos could almost see the blush. "Shy about masturbation, are we?"

"Fuck off, Methos." The words came with a chuckle, though. "How's Seacouver?"

"Rainy and shitty, as per usual. Or at least as far as I can tell from bed. Do you really think you can get me off the topic of wanking that easily?" Methos snuggled into the duvet again, bringing the phone with him. 

"God forbid I have any influence over what goes on in that head of yours." There was another pause. They'd never talked about sex over the phone, and Methos could feel Joe's gears grinding from here. He smothered a laugh.

"Well. I did have an intense fantasy about you. Would you like to hear it?" Methos let his voice go into a purr. He wondered idly where Joe was right now, but decided he didn't really care.

"Christ, when you do that with your voice...yeah. Tell me." Methos could hear the dim sounds of the bar in the background.

"I imagined us in bed, but we weren't touching. We couldn't. All we could do was watch each other jerk off. God, it was hot as hell, watching you but not being able to touch." Methos felt his cock stir, but ignored it. This was too much fun.

"Sounds...god. Frustrating. I can't keep my hands off of you." Joe was murmuring, and Methos really did have to wonder who was around.

"Tell me about it. I had two fingers inside myself but it wasn't enough. It wasn't your thick cock." Methos waited to see if he'd gone a little too far. He should have known better. His Joseph was always, as the kids said, down to fuck. Even if he was embarrassed as hell. 

Joe make a choked sound, but recovered admirably. "I couldn't stop thinking about that last time." 

"Joe," Methos pouted. "Don't you want to know who broke first?"

"You mean we didn't make it all the way to the end? I'm shocked." Joe laughed softly. "Tell me."

"I broke first. I pushed you down on the bed and rode you. You were doing that thing where you grip my hips hard enough to bruise and gods, I just lost it." Methos hissed through his teeth. "Came all over myself there and then. Couldn't even make it to the end of the fantasy."

"Fuck, Methos." Joe's voice was choked. "That's...some fantasy." 

Methos would bet the proverbial farm that Joe was hard as a rock right now. He certainly was. There was nothing quite like opening up some new kind of sexual experience for his Joseph. "We can make it a reality, you know. Anytime. Any fantasy you have. I'm yours to play with."

Joe was silent for a long moment. "Now I'm gonna have to go upstairs."

"Well, I should fucking hope so. Come nice and hard for me." Methos wished Joe would keep him on the phone that long, but he also knew when not to push. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"God...yeah, call me. We...should talk about practical things. But for now, upstairs. Love you." Joe was barely hanging onto control by his fingernails, and Methos found that thrilling. 

"Love you, too." Methos hung up the phone, looked at the time. "Fuck." No time to do anything about his particular problem, so he rolled out of bed and into the shower. 

Well, maybe a quick wank under the hot water would be okay.

When he was finished, he put on a clean set of his Adam Pierson clothes. With wealth, though, came certain expectations and appearances he was meant to keep, especially around snooty, expensive lawyers and wealth managers. 

He went downstairs and got into the back of his town car again. Same driver, who politely asked him if he'd slept well after his own trip. Methos assured him he'd slept like a baby, and gave him an address in a considerably nicer part of town than last night. He patted his new sword in its hidden pocket, smiling to himself. 

They pulled up in front of a small but exclusive clothing store that offered both bespoke and designer pret-a-porter for discerning customers. "I'm afraid this is going to take a while. Feel free to go get a coffee and I'll text you when I'm close to finished." No reason to make the man sit there for two hours. 

Methos went inside and submitted himself to the whirlwind of activity with a relatively good grace. He was measured extensively for new wardrobe - three bespoke suits that would be ready later in the week, and one that he could wear now. He added more casual clothing to the mix, keeping within his penchant for darker colours. Methos knew he was no Amanda, but he knew how to spend money, too. 

In fact, he took a picture of himself in his expensive designer suit and texted it to her, a little embarrassed at taking a selfie at his age. But if all this technology couldn't be used to delight an old friend, what good was it? And she was suitably delighted. 

The tricky part, of course, was the coat. They had something suitable they could sew the pocket into while he waited, but he ordered two custom coats in winter and summer weight, both black naturally. He emphasised the need for discretion, and made sure to pay a premium for it. If the tailors wondered why this strange British man needed a sword pocket in his coats, they didn't ask. Rich people were weird, and this was far from the strangest thing they'd ever been asked to accommodate. 

The one thing that was consistent across all the clothes he bought (other than the colours) was the fit. No more hiding, he'd decided the moment he touched that sword. No more playing the gormless perpetual student. It was time for Adam Pierson to grow the fuck up already. Time for him to finally finish his dissertation and take that teaching position that had been waiting for him for years, because even a rich bastard needed something to keep him busy. 

After arrangements were made to send the rest of his purchases to his hotel room, Methos called for the car again and sighed internally. He was armoured up now, so much so that he looked almost like another man, holding himself with confidence. But the next appointment would be so dreadfully tedious, as would the ones on subsequent days. He did not do boredom well, especially when he had to pay attention because every dull detail was actually terribly important. 

His Seacouver lawyers were competent professionals, but it still felt like the afternoon went on forever. He signed reams of paper. The one bumpy bit was when he insisted on adding Joseph Dawson to every account, and on working up a new will where everything was left to the man. They were eager to know who this person was, and why Mr. Pierson trusted him so much. He supposed it was their job to protect him from himself, but it still irritated him. 

Eventually, he broke and informed them that Joseph Dawson was his future husband, and entirely entitled to half of everything he owned. 

That shut them up, and Methos supposed he'd better get about proposing sooner than he'd intended. 

Finally, he escaped with a leather folio containing the signature pages Joe would have to sign and he'd have to messenger back. Once back in the quiet of his hotel room, he ordered a very late, very large lunch and contemplated the next task in his day. The thought of turning up on Mac's doorstep like a stray puppy was not appealing. He remembered when Mac's last class let out, and he had a little over an hour to kill. And stew over it. Sure, he could call ahead, but when had they ever bothered with that?

Rather than sitting there making himself miserable, he decided to call Joe and hear about his day's shopping extravaganza. Joe regaled him with stories of being taken to shop after shop by the eternally energetic Amanda. The stories made him laugh, because he could tell Joe was secretly enjoying himself. Methos asked questions, but mostly he intended to be thoroughly surprised when he walked through their front door. 

An hour passed quickly, and he let Joe go and changed into fitted sweatpants and a singlet, putting his coat over it all. This time, he dismissed the driver for the evening. He could call a taxi, after all, and it was a chilly night to be waiting in the perpetual rain. 

Stomach in knots, Methos approached the front door of the dojo. He could feel Mac inside, probably putting things back in order after his classes. Nonetheless, he knocked, because he was indeed a polite monster. 

Mac came to the door immediately, opening it with a wary, disbelieving look on his damnably handsome face. "Methos."

"Mac. Could I come in? It's freezing out here." Sure, play it like nothing had happened, that would work great, Methos thought.

Mac nodded once and backed out of the door, letting Methos inside the big, open space. It still seemed stifling, sharing the same space as the Highlander. 

"What are you doing here?" Mac got right to the point, for once, skipping any awkward small talk. Methos tried to ignore that part of his soul that yearned toward the sound of that voice. Mac had to be feeling it, too. 

"I need your help." If Mac didn't want small talk, neither did he. "I need to get back into top form, and I need to do it quickly."

"You finally crawling out from under your rock?" Mac kept his distance, which was about a third of the whole huge dojo away. 

"If that's your inelegant way of asking if I'm re-entering the Game, then yes. I am. No more running." Methos was surprised when Mac frowned - this was what Mac had wanted from him all along. Until Bordeaux, he reminded himself. 

"And what about Joe? How could you do this to him? Providing you haven't used him up and discarded him yet." Wow. Mac wasn't pulling any punches.

"On the contrary. We just bought a flat. I'm doing this for him, not to him. I won't let anyone hurt him, or use him against me. The old Adam might've been that weak, but I am not." Methos drew himself up taller, realizing that he actually topped the Highlander by a half-inch or so. Mac still weighed a hell of a lot more, and it was all thick, hard muscle, but Methos wasn't someone small and helpless next to him. 

"You know damned well you should get away from him as far and as fast as you can. It's the only way to make sure he's safe." Mac folded his arms across his chest judgmentally, his face a thundercloud. 

"That's one way to keep him safe. In reality, you know it's too late. Even if I left him, and I will not leave him, the damage is already done. Hell, it was too late the first time we kissed. He will always be the way to get to me. I choose to stop hiding. I choose to do anything to protect him." Things that would make Mac pale, but that went unsaid. 

"So you're going to out yourself as Methos?" Mac asked incredulously.

"Of course not. I'm not a fool. As far as anyone else knows, I'm Adam Pierson, and I'm so young I'm barely worth bothering with. Anyone who comes after such a young Immortal is a scum headhunter, and I will make them regret it." Much like you would, he thought. 

"Right." Mac sighed and relaxed his arms down by his side. "Why should I help you, of all people, become a better fighter?"

"First, I am a hell of a fighter. I just want to be in top form again. Second, you know why - so that I can protect Joe." Methos was done making himself small and non-threatening as a survival strategy. 

"Protect your own head, more like," Mac scoffed. 

"If that's what I wanted, I would still be the hapless infant hiding in plain sight." Methos took off his coat and withdrew his sword from its sheath. 

Mac tilted his head. "Somebody's been to see Dimi."

"He says it's time to take the katana in, by the way." Methos offered the sword to Mac to inspect, pommel first. It was a symbol of trust that meant a hell of a lot more to an Immortal than to an average swordsman. The thing was, Methos wasn't sure how far he really did trust Mac anymore. 

Mac took the blade with the respect it deserved, and examined it closely. "It's excellent work, Methos." He handed it back the same way he'd received it, and Methos took it and resheathed it. "I'll help you. How much time do we have?"

Methos let out a breath. "A week. I have business meetings in the afternoons, but other than that, I'm yours." And that was a terrible way to phrase it, he realised too late. 

"Well, I would have preferred longer, but if you haven't slipped too much, it should be enough." Mac raised an eyebrow. "Business meetings? You?"

"I have many lifetimes of unused wealth, just sitting there. I want to give Joe everything he could ever want or need, so..." Why was this such a hard thing to talk about? He'd rather talk about his and Joe's sex life than this. "I'm activating all of my accounts, combining them, and putting Joe's name on all of them. In the event I lose my head, he's my sole beneficiary."

The words clearly took Mac a moment to process. "That's a lot of money, Methos. Could raise red flags."

"It could, if I was an idiot. I might not have touched my money, but I've certainly arranged my affairs properly. Adam Pierson just inherited a fortune from his dead uncle. And Adam is pretty sharp, too." Methos knew good and well that there were head hunters out there watching for these kinds of large monetary movements, but he'd covered his tracks very well. 

"So you really do love him?" Mac shook his head slowly, like the light was finally dawning.

Methos took a moment to answer, shedding his clothes and trainers and retrieving his sword again. He stood in front of Mac, showing himself in ways Mac had never seen before. "With every part of me save the one that belongs to you."

"I'm not going easy on you, old man." Mac was taken aback by the words, by the not-so-subtle display, Methos could see it. His response was simply to raise his blade to the guard position and wait.

The first attack came fast and hard, but Methos parried at the last second. Barely. Mac wasn't kidding around, and that's exactly what he wanted. An exhausting three hours later, both of them were covered in sweat, Methos' shirt was ruined, and he'd healed from a dozen relatively minor cuts. To be fair, Mac had to heal from a few himself. 

By the time Mac stopped, they were both a little shaky. 'You haven't let yourself go as far as you think you have." From Mac, that was high praise, indeed.

"I suppose a few millenia of muscle memory comes in handy from time to time." Methos panted and crouched down to collect his things and stow away his sword. He'd been well pleased with her performance, and how she practically flew through his hands. "Thank you."

Mac's response was a curt nod. Well, what had Methos expected? Certainly not a warm welcome, or an invitation upstairs for a beer. It was fine. It was FINE, he repeated to himself. In fact, it was better this way.

"Tomorrow morning?" Methos stripped off his sliced-up singlet and shoved it into his bag. He looked over his shoulder and saw something that made his heart stop for a second. Mac was looking at his long, naked back with raw hunger. He covered it up immediately, and Methos pretended he'd seen nothing as he pulled his coat on and buttoned it up all the way.

"Bright and early, yeah." His accent was thicker than normal, and Methos remembered against his will the last time he'd heard it like that. Damn it, he needed Joe. He needed to be away from this misery.

"I'll be here." Methos shouldered his bag and stepped out into the cold rain to call a cab. Thankfully, the wait was short, and soon he was back in his hotel suite. He should be starving, but he just felt empty, not hungry. He took a long, blisteringly hot shower and bundled up in his old sweats. And this was just day one. It was like a particularly terrible detox in reverse. Like falling off the wagon, except he was holding onto the reins with both hands.

Methos did the math and decided that, while early, it wasn't an absolutely indecent time to call Joe, so he curled up in bed with his mobile. Joe answered after a couple of rings, sleep roughening his voice. "Hey, beautiful."

"Hey, handsome. I woke you. I'm sorry." Methos imagined being there, wrapped around Joe like a heat-seeking lamprey, and it made him ache and smile at the same time. 

"Nah, my alarm was gonna go off in a half hour anyway. How are things going?" Joe picked up on something in Methos' voice. 

"Well. Today I bought a lot of clothes and put your name on everything. I have a stack of papers for you to sign when I get home." He paused. "I started training with Mac tonight."

"Yeah? How was it?" 

"Hard, Joe. Not gonna lie. It was hard, seeing him again. The training was hard. It was just...well, I had to hear your voice. I love your voice. I love you." His own voice was soft. "At least I think I finally convinced him of that much."

"I love you, too. I miss you in this bed." Joe sighed. "I guess it's good that he's a believer now."

Methos neglected to mention that unguarded moment when he'd caught Mac staring at him. "It was why he agreed to help me. He knows it's the best way to protect you."

"You keep saying that, like somehow I'm a delicate flower that can't protect himself just fine." Joe huffed a little. 

"Joe, you know Immortals. You know what headhunters are like. You've seen plenty of first hand evidence. You'll just have to forgive me for the caution, since you're my whole world." He was feeling sappy tonight, and so what? He'd earned it.

"Shit. Well, when you put it that way." Methos could hear the smile in Joe's voice. "Hopefully, it'll never be an issue."

"I hope it won't be, too. But know that I would fight a legion to keep you safe." The dirty, strange feeling from Mac staring at him started to dissipate at last. 

The gruff chuckle from Joe made it vanish all the way back to that pesky little part of his soul, where he locked it away. "That's...pretty romantic, actually."

Methos laughed softly and crawled under the covers of the immaculately made bed. "What can I say? I'm hopeless where you're concerned."

"You in bed? It's late there, and I bet you're exhausted." There was a rustling as Joe sat up in bed and moved the blankets out of the way.

"I really am. But I had to hear your voice." It had the magical power to cleanse him of his sins, after all. 

"Get some rest, old man. I'm sure Mac won't go any easier on you tomorrow."

"I'm sure he won't. Promise me you'll call if you need anything, okay?" Methos knew that Joe had to get up and start his day, and it was well past time he went to sleep, but it ached to say goodbye.

"I will. Don't worry about that. Now go to sleep." Joe chided him gently. 

"Yes, sir. Have a great day. I love you." Methos could feel his eyes start to close, and he had to fight them open. 

"I love you, too. Good night, Methos." Joe hung up the phone, and Methos set his alarm before letting the darkness claim him. 

The next few days passed in a blur - training with Mac, talking to officious people who all thought they knew better than he did, and teasing Joe to within an inch of his life. There hadn't been a repeat of the staring incident (at least that he'd caught), but Mac was going harder and harder on him. He was starting to feel like he was in some kind of video game - unlocking levels. Skills he'd thought long-buried resurfaced, and he'd actually managed to get his sword at Mac's throat more than once. 

One afternoon, Methos was sitting alone in his financial advisor's office, waiting for them to draw up yet more papers for him to sign. His mobile flashed and he answered with a smile. "Hello, handsome. It's late there, you okay?"

"Yeah. I just finished my set. Tried to go to sleep, but I couldn't stop thinking about you." Joe's voice was gruff and a little growly, and Methos felt the desire like a punch to the gut. 

"Really. If I were there right now, what exactly would you be doing to me?" Joe may get growly when turned on, but Methos purred, low and seductive. 

"Jesus. Anything you'd let me do." Joe sounded turned on and embarrassed at the same time, and wasn't it convenient that was one of Methos' little kinks?

"That hardly narrows the field. You know I'd let you do anything you wanted to me. Close your eyes and tell me the first thing that comes into your head." Sure, the upstanding citizens could come back any moment, but that only added to the thrill.

"God." Joe took a deep, shaky breath. "I would kill to feel your mouth on me right now." 

"Ohhh. Yes. I do so love sucking your perfect cock. On my knees in front of you, taking you apart. Would you be oh-so-gentle?" Methos teased softly.

"No. I don't think I would be. Not this time." Joe took another breath. "I would stare down and watch your eyes while I fuck your gorgeous mouth." 

"Gods. Yeah. Feel you stretching my jaws, pushing into my throat. Is your hand on your cock right now?" Methos kept his voice a low, intimate murmur, and tried very hard to ignore his own arousal. 

"N...no...but my dick is so hard, Methos." 

"Then what the fuck are you waiting for, Joseph? Take your cock out and stroke it for me. Sit on the edge of the bed and see me there, taking you deep. You're making my lips red, you're thrusting so deep." Methos could absolutely devour the man right now.

"Christ..." Joe groaned and Methos knew he was finally touching himself. "It'd make you so hard, wouldn't it? If I fucked your mouth, one hand clenching at your hair."

"It's already made me so hard, Joe. Just the idea of you taking what you want from me." Using him, but he was smart enough not to say that out loud. "What you don't see, because you're watching my mouth, is that I have my fingers up my ass, stretching my hole open for you."

"Always so greedy, aren't you?" Joe's breath was growing ragged.

"For you, always. You're a little confused when I pull away, but you get the idea pretty fucking fast when I push you back onto the bed and sink right down onto your swollen cock, nice and slick with my spit." 

"So tight, fuck, you are always so tight and hot." Joe was close. He knew the man's voice in every permutation at this point. 

Naturally, the financial advisor's assistant took that moment to walk back into the room. He looked up from the mobile, and told her calmly that he was taking a personal call. Could she come back in a few minutes? She backed out of the room, and Methos turned his attention back to Joe.

"Fuck, are you in public right now?" He could practically see Joe shuddering with a mixture of intense arousal and embarrassment. Delicious. 

"Mmhmm. But when I close my eyes, I'm busy riding your cock. I grind down onto you, clenching so hard, and then I find that perfect angle..."

"The one that makes your eyes roll back, yeah...I grab your hips and hold you right there, thrusting up hard, so hard, because I want to see you come..." Joe gasped. 

"You always do. Such a gentleman," Methos teased, his voice sinful. If Joe wanted his own personal incubus, he was more than happy to fill the role. "And how can I resist you when you're fucking me like that, filling me up, stretching me wide open? You don't even have to touch me - when I come for you, I spurt all over your belly and you feel it around your cock."

"Fuck! Fuck..." Methos almost came in his trousers, listening to Joe getting off half a bloody world away. 

"Yeah, that's it...just like that, handsome...want you to feel so good right now." Methos closed his eyes and fought for a measure of control. He listened to the moans as they finally tapered off.

"Good god, Methos. I...I love you." Joe managed a full breath. "And I fucking miss you."

"Oh, Joe, I feel the same way. You wouldn't believe how hard I am right now." And even more, how much he missed leaning down and kissing Joe's gasping mouth, nuzzling at his bearded jaw, pressing their foreheads together. "But I have to go, sweetheart. They'll be back any moment."

"My poor Methos. I'll make it up to you. With interest." Joe purposefully growled the words, knowing full well what that did to Methos.

"You are going to kill me, and I'm hanging up before I actually expire. I love you."

"I love you, too." No sooner had Joe hung up the phone, the assistant came back in with her sheaf of papers for him to review and sign. Thankfully, his tailored suit jacket covered up a multitude of sins. 

Methos barely made it through the meeting, signing documents on an ethical growth fund. He'd made his wishes on the topic quite clear, even though his advisors were insistent that he'd see much higher returns on a more 'conventional' portfolio. But he'd lived long enough to see enough human suffering - he was done adding to it. 

After the meeting, he had to go directly to the dojo, so he was still more than a little distracted once he and Mac started sparring. Try as he might, he couldn't stop thinking of Joe, but at least the strenuous exercise kept the erection at bay. 

"What's the matter with you tonight, old man? I've never scored this many hits against you." Mac stopped and looked at Methos, cocking his head to one side. 

Methos ran his hand down his bare torso (why even wear a shirt when it was only doomed to ruin?) to wipe away some blood. "Sorry. Just had a very distracting phone call earlier, and I can't seem to get it out of my head."

"You'd better. Your opponents won't care how distracted you are," Mac reminded him helpfully.

"I know, Mac. I know." Methos sighed and lowered his sword to take a drink from his water bottle. "I'll do better." The air in the dojo was warm and thick, smelling of sweat and blood. He didn't like to think how comfortable that scent was to him.

"Yeah, you will." Mac attacked again, more viciously, and Methos only managed to score one solid hit before he made a critical mistake. Mac's sword stabbed forward and his back foot slipped on blood. The long blade went right through him, piercing his heart. 

The last thing he remembered was the dull thud of the katana hitting the floor and strong arms catching him as everything went black. When he drew his first breath, a ragged, pained gasp, the pins and needles of reanimation lighting up his blood, rebooting his brain, he was cradled in the Highlander's lap.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to...please believe I didn't mean to," Mac was murmuring, over and over. Methos didn't understand - being Immortal was the ultimate do-over. It was just another in a countless string of deaths. They all sucked, sure, but when you play with live blades, sometimes you get stabbed through the heart with one. 

"What?" he asked muzzily. "Duncan, it's all right. I'm all right..."

Mac just gathered him into his arms more closely, burying his face in Methos' sweaty hair. "I just didn't want to hurt you."

Methos breathed in Duncan's scent, and found it more comforting than he should. Finally, his frazzled brain supplied a hypothesis. "Is this about Kronos?"

Mac grew very still, and then pulled back enough to cup Methos' cheek in his broad palm. "Yes." It obviously cost him something to admit it.

Well, the uncomfortable conversation Methos had been dreading was speeding toward him like an out of control freight train. He should have pulled away, at the very least, but he found himself leaning into Mac's hand. "Duncan, you are not him. You never could be."

"I can't get what he did to you, what I did to you, out of my head. I have nightmares about it." Mac's voice was ragged.

"You know, the sex wasn't that bad," Methos joked reflexively. 

"No, not...not the sex. But even that, I wish I'd done differently." Clearly, Mac had done some thinking over the past few weeks. Brooding, more likely.

They were approaching very rocky shores, and Methos proceeded accordingly. "Duncan...we missed our window. That's all. Stop beating yourself up over..." And then Mac's mouth was on his in a messy, desperate kiss. Methos' brain fried for a long moment before he pulled away. "Duncan, this cannot be."

"Because you love Joe." It wasn't jealousy he heard in Mac's voice. It was...regret. He'd know it anywhere.

"And so do you." Methos moved stiffly to extricate himself from the embrace. "Besides, you're a confirmed, card-carrying heterosexual, remember?" Which is why nothing had ever happened between them before, despite the almost painful chemistry they shared.

Mac laughed raggedly. "Not where you're concerned, apparently."

Now he figures it out, Methos thought. It would be almost funny, if it weren't so fucking tragic. "Duncan, I know it hurts, this thing we share. It aches."

"Tonight, right now, it's bleeding." 

"Remember what I am to you, before all other things - a monster." It hurt Methos to say. It hurt Duncan to hear.

"I can't forget that. But I can't stop wanting you." Oh, how Duncan strangled himself with the noose he'd made to fit his own neck.

"And that's it. Joe knows what I am, and he loves me and desires me anyway. He's the first person, Duncan. The very first." And Methos would protect it, no matter how much he hurt. 

"I wish I could be a different man for you." Mac reached out again, and took Methos' hand in his own, twining their fingers together.

"Ah, but that's the great paradox, isn't it? If you were any man other than the one you are, that fragment of your soul in me would hold no significance." He wouldn't yearn for what he wanted, if Mac had been a different man. Not so noble, not so stupid, not so impossibly young.

"It's really not fair at all," Mac murmured, squeezing Methos' hand tighter. "And before you say it, I'm not such an infant that I still think life is fair."

"I'm happy, Duncan. And someday soon, if you let yourself unbend a little, you can be happy, too. I want that for you." He did, with a fervour that surprised him.

"It's hard to believe that so little time has passed. I feel like you've been inside me forever." 

Methos hated it when Duncan sounded, for all his protestations, like a lost child. It made him feel protective, fierce. "Duncan," he said gently, "I was in your heart from the moment we met. All you had to do was reach for me."

Mac met his eyes. "And all I did was push you away." 

"And so here we are." Methos carefully separated their hands. "It's true, you know. The opposite of hate is indifference." 

"I wish I could hate you." Mac shook his head as if to clear it. "You should shower. You're covered in blood."

Methos got to his feet, wincing a little as the blood started flowing properly through his legs again. Mac was covered in blood, too, but it seemed right. They were the walking wounded. "What will the driver think?"

He gathered his bag and walked slowly toward the back of the dojo, into the locker room. Once alone, he realised he was shaking, a pain stabbing through his chest that had nothing to do with the blade. It would be so easy, to fall into Duncan's arms, but all he could think of was Joe, and how much it hurt that he could never find the words to explain this pain to him. Joe would live out his days never fully understanding, and Methos would bear this shame, this heartache, in silence.

Under the hot spray, he felt the knots in his shoulders start to ease at last. He stood facing the slick wall, leaning against it with his hands splayed on the tile, watching the blood run down the drain. 

It wasn't even a surprise when he felt a familiar hand cup his shoulder, a strong body at his back. For all his honour, Duncan MacLeod never had understood boundaries. Methos turned to face him. "This cannot happen," he whispered, barely audible over the water. 

"That's not why I came in here." Mac took Methos' hand and laid it over his own heart, then mirrored the gesture. "I wanted to see you, and I wanted you to see me."

Their eyes caught and held, and time held no meaning. "I see you, Duncan." He went unresisting when the other man pulled him into his arms, pressed their naked bodies together, then their foreheads. "We are strange creatures, are we not?" 

Immortal psychology? Still fucked.

"But we pretend to be human so well," Duncan murmured. 

Methos' arms twined around Duncan's neck, and their bodies moulded together. He knew what they were trying to do - to shove themselves back together into one whole person. He knew it wouldn't work. "I do love you."

"With .1 percent of your soul?" Mac sounded like he'd take it, no matter how paltry it was. 

"With those dark places inside me where you fear to go." Where no one treads, not even himself. 

"And I love you." There was no 'but' attached, no 'if only you weren't a monster I would love you.' Just a simple declaration that must have cost Mac everything to say. "Is it true? Does time heal all wounds?"

"No, Duncan. It most certainly does not." How he wished he could lie to the man, comfort him. "I am going to marry him, and live by his side until his dying breath. I will be beyond desolation when he leaves me." 

"I will stand by your side, and expect nothing of you." Mac was holding him so tightly he could almost hear his ribs creaking. They had, in the end, nothing but time. What was thirty or forty years to an Immortal?

Methos could hear the hope creep into Mac. "Duncan, unless you learn to love me unreservedly, this can never happen." He put a decided emphasis on the 'never.' Knowing what love could be, what it was for him, he wouldn't settle for less.

"How can we not fall from grace? If not now, then in a hundred years, two hundred." Mac still held him fast, and Methos wasn't exactly eager to break the embrace. Somehow, he wasn't hard right now, and neither was Mac. It made this easier, and more difficult. This was intimacy, this nakedness of body and soul, it was sacrosanct. 

And Methos knew, in the forever-corrupted part of his heart, that if Duncan so much as kissed him right now, he would do things he would forever regret. He would fall from his hard-won grace, and it would be yet another regret.

"Do you want to understand me?" he whispered into Mac's ear. For the first time, he felt a frisson of hunger pass through the other man. 

"More than anything in the world, Methos." Mac turned his head a fraction, not quite brushing Methos' lips with his own. "But if I did, I would do terrible things to people I love, to anyone who might keep me from you." 

"One day, I will hold you close and whisper all of my secrets into your ear. Then you can decide." Methos grazed his mouth against Duncan's, and both of them made a low noise, swallowed into the hot mist that twined around them. 

Mac finally eased his death grip on Methos' slender, slick body, but he did it slowly, like it physically pained him. Methos could relate. "On that day, I will open my heart and hear your words." It was all he could offer, and it was all Methos could expect.

Methos stepped away from Mac, from the promise they'd made, and turned to shut off the shower. Damn it all, he was shaking again, and he couldn't really run back into Mac's arms again, could he?

"Was I wrong, to come in here?" Duncan asked, eyes full of uncertainty.

"No, love, you were not wrong." Methos reached out and stroked Mac's messy hair back from his face. 

"You'll be good to him." It wasn't a threat, or an accusation, just a simple statement.

"I will love him forever. Until the stars burn out." How many mortals can hope to be remembered, loved, through all the ages of humankind? "Don't stay away, Mac. Please. Come to our wedding. Be in our lives."

Ordinarily, his pragmatic side would be simply suggest that he and Joe make their duo into a trio and be done with the angst. But Mac was too young, and Joe was still too insecure. It would be a disaster.

"I couldn't stay away if I wanted to." Mac found a small, crooked smile for him. 

Methos nodded, then moved past Mac to the towels. The moment should feel over, fractured, but somehow it didn't. He felt Mac's eyes heavy on him as he dried himself off and put on fresh clothes. He still felt naked. 

"Is our training over?" Methos asked gently.

"You've learned all I can teach. You're good. Very good." Mac didn't want to keep torturing himself and Methos with the forced intimacy of bare blades and intricate dances. 

"Thank you, Duncan. Thank you for helping me." Methos knew it could have gone a very different way.

"I'm glad you came to me." For all the ache of loss and regret, Methos found himself agreeing. 

He cleaned his blade and resheathed it, then gathered the rest of his things before texting his driver. "I hope that we'll see you soon." Mac had stepped into some sweats and was standing next to him looking a bit like a lost puppy.

"I can never stay away from Paris in the spring." That sad smile went right to Methos' heart. 

Methos nodded, then left, refusing to look back. 

Once back in the relative safety of his hotel room, he allowed himself to finally just curl up in a naked ball on the bed, all the covers pulled up. He tried and tried to get warm enough to stop shaking, but deep down he knew it wouldn't work. Only one thing would, and he fumbled for his mobile and called Joe. When he answered, he only sounded a little sleepy, like he always did just after his alarm went off. They were neither of them morning people. 

"Good morning, love," Methos murmured. 

"Hello, Methos. What's wrong?" Even early-morning Joe knew him too well at this point. 

"I had...a rough night. And I'm missing you very much." There was no hint of sexual banter in his voice, only a barely-repressed desperation. He needed something from Joe right now, but he couldn't even begin to say what. 

"Was it Mac?" Joe asked carefully. "You don't sound so good, sweetheart."

"Yeah, it...it was." Methos didn't want to lie to Joe, and yet he didn't know how he was going to answer the inevitable questions. "Don't worry, we didn't...we didn't fuck."

"I didn't think you had. You gave me your word, and I trust you. Can you tell me what happened?" Joe paused. "Did you two fight?"

Methos laughed mirthlessly. "Well, he did accidentally stab me through the heart, but he was very sorry afterward."

"Ouch." Joe had seen enough Immortal reanimations that he knew better than to overreact, no matter how much the thought of Methos in pain bothered me.

"We had a bit of a...I don't know the right words." Methos paused. "Reckoning, I suppose. We were...completely honest with each other, maybe for the first time."

"It's left you shaken," Joe observed gently. 

"More than anything, it reminded me, very forcibly, that we are not human." That no one had the faintest clue, even him, why. Why the fighting? Why the Game? And that the only ones who really cared about winning the Prize didn't even remotely deserve it. "We do not process our emotions, our connections, like humans."

"Okay. I can see that - the Chronicles are full of behaviour that Watchers are still wondering and hypothesising about. And it only gets harder the older you get, doesn't it?" Leave it to Joe to get it, at least on some level.

"You anchor me. You pulled me back into the world. You and Mac. But you keep me here." Methos took a deep breath. "If I gave you a blow-by-blow...I think you would end up hurt and jealous."

"Don't think so little of me, Methos. I am not small or petty, despite my insecurities." Joe didn't sound defensive. In fact, his voice was so gentle that Methos wanted to cry.

"I think the world of you. And I think the best way to explain it is that we...came face to face with what happened at Bordeaux, and afterward. We faced it, admitted it, and came to terms." Maybe Joe didn't need to know it happened naked in a shower. 

"Came to terms with...what, exactly?" Joe's voice was still so soft. 

"What we are to each other. Before the shared Quickening, after. We acknowledged that there is...love there." Powerful, claiming, and doomed to tragedy, but love nonetheless.

"Of course you love each other. You've always loved each other. You'd have to be blind not to see that." 

"Well. He was blind. And now he is not. But, Joe, I am still a monster to him. We spoke in terms of centuries." The weight of it sat on his shoulders still. "I told him that unless he could look at me as something more than the laundry list of the things I have done...centuries would not be enough."

"Methos...do think I haven't thought about it? I know you'll stay by my side, love me, until the day I die, but your life will go on. Do you think I want you to be alone?" Joe's voice was rough, and Methos wondered if he were as near tears as he was. 

"I think you are far too good a man to want that, my love. The thing you need to know is that I chose you. I will always choose you." Damn it, now Methos had to scrub the tears off his cheeks. 

"And I would always choose you, and be the luckiest mortal alive. Come back to me soon. I want to hold you, touch you, feel you, kiss you..." Joe stopped himself.

"Gods. I'm booking a flight home for tomorrow night. I can't stay away another minute. It's killing me." He craved Joe's hands on him, the warm familiarity of his mouth, the way the man looked at him. 

"Me, too. Let's not do this again, huh?" Joe let out a deep breath. 

"No." Wherever he would go, Joe would go. "Is the flat ready?" It might seem like a non-sequitur, but it really wasn't.

"Yeah. All ready for you. Especially our bedroom." And with it, the words he'd whispered in Methos' ear in that empty room came back to life between them. "I need you." 

"And I need you. Beyond all else, I need you." Methos could feel no shame in admitting it, or how deeply it rang true. 

Joe laughed softly. "And here I was kinda hoping you were calling me for another reason. I've been thinking a lot about that bedroom."

"Hmmm." Methos felt a longing more tangible creep into his blood. "Are you nervous at all?"

"Maybe a little. It'll be my first time, after all." Joe laughed again. "At my age, I would have thought I was all out of first anythings, but it just goes to show you..."

"You're never too old to be surprised?" Methos supplied helpfully. "Don't you worry - I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure you love every moment of it. And if you don't, we can always stop. This never has to be."

"See, that right there is why I know I want it. So much so that it's practically all I can think about." Joe was blushing again. Methos knew. 

"Tell me what you've been thinking." He slid his free hand down to his half-hard cock, stroking slowly. 

"You're not too tired?" Joe asked. It was a reasonable question.

"A few minutes ago I would have told you that I couldn't get it up if my life depended on it, but hearing your voice, saying things like that, I know I can't sleep without sharing some kind of pleasure with you." A balm to all the heartache and loss. 

"All right, then." Joe cleared his throat. "I imagine you being so controlled, so gentle, going so slowly."

"I would. I would take you apart with my tongue and my fingers until you couldn't even remember your own name. Nothing except 'please' and 'more.'" Methos could picture it, Joe writhing beneath him as he licked and thrust and suckled at the tiny opening until it started to open for his fingers.

"Christ. I want to feel that. I want to feel your fingers inside me. Never had anything inside me before." Joe's voice grew rougher.

"Not even your own fingers? Oh, Joe, you are missing out. I trust you remember how I squirm and beg and fuck down on your fingers, begging you for more?" Methos was fully hard now, his hand still moving in maddeningly slow strokes.

"No...and I haven't wanted to...do that myself, knowing that you would be using your own fingers in me. I want you to be the very first. And the very last." 

"Joe..." Methos hand stopped. "I'll give you what you need. Everything you need. I'll make you feel so good." His throat tightened, and he was honestly shocked to find himself on the verge of tears. This man trusted him so much, it broke his heart.

"Hey, hey, sweetheart. What is it?" Joe's concern came through loud and clear.

"I just...tonight's been a hell of a roller coaster. I'm sorry. I thought I could...but I just need you to hold me tight." From half a world away.

"Oh...oh, I wish I could. Curl you up with your head on my shoulder, wrap both my arms around you and hold on like there's nothing else in the world." Joe, for all his gruffness, had nothing but tenderness for him. It made Methos break even more.

"Gods, I'm crying all over you, and you wanted to have some fun." Methos' voice was thick with the tears he was trying not to shed.

"Not as much as I want to be there for you right now. I don't pretend to understand what happened to you tonight, but you sound devastated." 

"I think it's nothing you can't cure. I think there's nothing your arms around me can't cure." On top of that, Methos was exhausted, body and soul. He felt flayed, which he hadn't felt since that last time he'd actually been flayed. Fun times.

"That's funny, since I feel the same way about you. Tell me you'll be home, soon. Back in my arms." Now Joe sounded choked up. It seemed that tonight's mission was to make both the men he loved cry. 

"I'll be on a plane tomorrow afternoon. I'm done here." Methos didn't just mean that he was done with business. He'd laid all the ghosts to rest, for a little while at least.

"Thank god. I'm kinda tired of sleeping in this bed, after what Amanda and I picked out for us." There was a hint of Joe's humour returning.

"Why on earth haven't you been sleeping in the flat, if it's all done?" Methos knew the answer, but he asked anyway.

"Not done without you there," Joe replied. It was that simple. 

"I'll spend tomorrow night on an airplane, but after that...I'll be home." Methos felt like he'd been wandering in the wilderness for an age (and he'd done that, more than once, thank you very much), not ten days. 

"I can't wait. Do you think you can sleep?" Joe's voice softened. 

"If I can't, I'll sleep on the plane. I love you, Joe." Tonight may well be another one of his long, dark nights of the soul, but gods above, he needed some rest. 

"I love you, too. You call me if you need to talk - anytime, day or night. Promise me." Methos always smiled when Joe got bossy with him.

"I promise, darling." Methos crooked a smile at that and hung up before Joe could sputter that he was no one's 'darling.' 

For all his exhaustion and emotional fatigue, it took hours for Methos to fall into a fitful sleep. His dreams were fraught and confused as his subconscious tried to sort it all out and failed miserably, finally delivering a blistering dream of Duncan fucking him up against the wall of that shower. The dream was so intense he could taste Duncan's mouth, swallow up the bestial sounds Duncan made as he tried to force them into one whole person only to spit them back. His blunt nails dug into Duncan's broad back and left dark red marks as he growled and snarled his way to an orgasm that nearly blew the top of his head off. 

He woke covered in his own come, still panting from the force of his climax. His subconscious was a real bitch. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he surveyed the ruins, trying for philosophical and ending up at ashamed. Nothing for it but to wash away the evidence and do some Scottish-style brooding. 

Once in the bathroom, though, Methos recoiled from the shower and filled the tub up so much that when he sank in with a grateful sigh it almost came up to his shoulders. Showers were overrated, anyway. He scrubbed at himself till he was finally clean, and then he laid back and had his inevitable self-beratement at a leisurely pace until the water ran cold. He knew he wasn't responsible for his dreams, but dear gods, what a dream it had been. It had felt more like a memory. Part of him wondered if Duncan had a similar dream, but if they were sharing dreams now...it didn't really bear thinking about for too long. 

What he needed, Methos decided as he got out and dried off and dressed for what promised to be a very long day indeed, was to do something to put Duncan away where he belonged. Yes, a gesture. A very definitive gesture. 

With that decision made, he ordered a leisurely breakfast and wrote a few more emails wrapping up details with his people in Seacouver, and the lawyers and advisers who would be taking over in Paris. Satisfied that he wasn't leaving something important undone in his rush to get home to Joe, he packed all his bags and called for the bellhop and his driver. Time for one more errand, then off to the airport for the interminable flight back home. 

While he was waiting, he texted his itinerary to Joe and told him not to bother coming to the airport - he'd have a car waiting. They traded a few more texts in the car, and Methos reassured Joe that he was okay, even though no, he hadn't slept very much. 

With the errand completed and the resulting purchase nestled carefully in his carry-on, Methos reluctantly slid his sword into his checked baggage and endured the security line and all the other nonsense. Once on the plan he had one scotch and promptly passed out. One plane change in New York, and he was on the final leg of the journey. He forced himself to sleep through most of the flight, so he'd be rested when he finally saw Joe again. 

The plane landed early in the morning, and Methos made his way to the arrivals lounge, looking for his driver. He found the man easily enough, not because he was holding a sign with 'Pierson' written on it, but because Joe was there standing next to him, smiling. 

Methos could tell from across the lounge that Joe was trying to be patient, and saw the moment his lover said 'fuck it' and started to walk toward him. He sped up himself, and when they met halfway he dropped his bag to the floor and threw himself into Joe's arms. 

Joe opened his mouth to say something but he never got it out because Methos was kissing him. Methos' hands framed Joe's face and the kiss was not even remotely chaste or family-friendly. When Methos finally let Joe up for air, Joe was beet red but grinning. "Hello."

Joe laughed. "Hello," he replied, his voice a little hoarse. "I know you said not to bother coming, but..."

"But I'm so glad you did." Methos smoothed his hands through Joe's hair and pulled their foreheads together. "Gods, I've missed you." He felt like rubbing his face against Joe's like a giant cat looking to imprint himself on its human again. 

"I've missed you, too. Let's not do this again for a long, long time." Joe had him around the waist and was hugging him tightly. 

When they finally separated, Methos picked up his bag and held Joe's hand, fingers interlaced, as they went back to the driver, who didn't seem particularly fazed. Methos had to release Joe's hand long enough to give the man his baggage claim checks, and then they were shown to the town car while the driver fetched the luggage. Money had its perks. 

"I like the new clothes," Joe looked him up and down. 

"It was time for Adam Pierson to grow the fuck up." Methos was plastered to his side, so it was easy to lean over and bury his face in Joe's neck and just breathe him in. 

When the driver came back, Joe gave him the address, and then Methos put up the privacy screen and gave Joe a genuinely devilish look. "Give me one good reason not to suck you off right here and now."

Joe just shrugged, a mischievous smile on his face that made Methos' heart leap in his chest in funny ways. "I dunno, I think you should suck me off right here and now."

Methos bit his bottom lip and reached down to find Joe already hard, cock trapped in unforgiving denim. He didn't know what had got into his usually reserved Joe, but he wasn't wasting his chance. His nimble fingers made short work of the belt and button and zip, and in moments he had Joe's thick cock in his grasp again. Gods, he'd missed it, missed Joe. Missed the scent of his arousal that made his mouth water. 

Joe's hand came up to grip Methos' short hair, making Methos groan as he leaned over and swallowed Joe's cock in one desperate motion, forcing his throat to relax, breathing through his nose until he had him all the way in. 

Joe shuddered and moaned out his name, and Methos' own trapped prick throbbed angrily as he started to suckle, hard and fast. There was no time to tease, alas, but he wanted to make it so good for Joe. 

That didn't seem to be an issue, since Joe was grinding out low noises and thrusting up with his hips in time with his punishing pace. It was just like their fantasy, with Joe fucking his mouth and Methos almost came in his trousers when Joe let go just a minute or two later, stifling his cry against one fist as he spurted down Methos' eager throat. He collapsed back against the expensive upholstery and smoothed down the hair he'd rucked up in the heat of passion before pulling Methos up for a messy kiss. "Holy shit."

"Mmm," Methos agreed, using one hand to tuck Joe back in and make him decent again. As if.

"What about you?" Joe reached between Methos' legs and palmed his erection. 

"Oh, there's only one place I'm coming this morning," Methos purred, taking Joe's hand and kissing his palm. He couldn't miss the tremor of renewed arousal.

"That's why I've been so damn horny since I woke up." Joe looked over at him. "My imagination's been working overtime."

"So no nerves, then?" Methos asked, his voice teasing. 

"Nope." Joe laughed softly. "You don't even give the remotest shit what the rest of the flat looks like, do you?"

Methos made a shocked noise and his hand fluttered to his chest. "Not so! I assure you I'm very curious to see yours and Amanda's handiwork. I'm just most interested in our bedroom." And even more specifically, the bed in that bedroom. Having Joe right here, where he could taste him, smell him...it did wonders for his somewhat battered heart. 

"I guess it shouldn't have surprised me, but Amanda is a demon for power tools. She hung all the drapes herself, perched at the very tip top of a ladder. I kept hovering until she pointed out that not only was she unlikely to decapitate herself with the combination of a drill and a ladder but that this was also how she made a living." Joe smiled.

"And you still hovered, didn't you?" Methos grinned and kissed Joe's knuckles.

"Guilty." Joe's smile turned sheepish. "You both just seem...oddly fragile."

"Joe..." Methos looked up and met Joe's eyes, letting himself drop the human for a moment. "I assure you, we are not." 

"You've changed. In just ten days, you've changed." Joe didn't look away.

"No...no, Joseph, I haven't. I've just decided to stop hiding, especially from you. I hope you meant it when you said you love me for who I am." Methos already knew the answer, so it made for an easy question to pose. 

"You know I meant that. Honestly, I was wondering when I'd start to see more of the Immortal, and less of the man." Joe leaned in brushed his lips against Methos' sharp cheekbone. "Just love me."

"More than anything," Methos answered unreservedly. Mac had a place in his heart, but he would never forsake Joe, not for anything in the world.

The car pulled up in front of the new flat, and they got out without looking too much like they'd just fucked in the back of the nice man's car. Methos tipped the driver to bring in his bags, and Joe unlocked the door. 

Once the bags were deposited in the foyer, Methos took Joe's hand. "Give me the grand tour?" He could already see two cases in the foyer filled with the treasures he'd accumulated over the centuries and hadn't been able to part with. Looks like they'd raided his old flat, and Methos had to chuckle at the idea of Joe and Amanda going through all his things. He wondered what shade Joe turned when he found the toy box.

"Yeah...not gonna lie, I'm a little nervous." Joe took Methos' hand and led him into the living room. Methos honestly didn't know what to expect, but the way they'd made the large, airy room cosy without making it feel cluttered made him smile. The couches and chairs were overstuffed black leather, with ample colorful pillows and throw blankets. 

They'd obviously gone crazy at the kitchen store, because he immediately noticed the brand new appliances on the counter, along with a wooden and metal dining room table and a credenza filled with nice, but too nice for daily use, china. 

"This is perfect, Joe. Absolutely perfect." Methos squeezed Joe's hand.

Joe smiled proudly. "I picked out most of it on my own. I got a little lost in the china patterns, though. Come on, I want to show you the rest." 

He practically dragged Methos down the hall that led to the guest room, which was furnished with a queen-sized four poster bed in clean, modern lines and a dresser to match. "This is the surprise." He opened the third bedroom door, and Methos gaped.

Joe and Amanda had turned it into a practice room for him. One wall was mirrored, there was a stand for various weapons, and weight machines. "Gods..."

"You're obviously dead serious about staying at the top of your game, so I wanted to make sure you had a place to do that." Joe shrugged, but he was grinning. 

"Speaking of...you should meet my new baby." Methos pulled out his sword carefully and handed it to Joe pommel first. 

"Wow, she's a beauty." Joe whistled through his teeth. "Much lighter and more nimble than your old one, but it looks like she's got quite a bite." You didn't watch Immortals for decades without learning a thing or two about blades. 

Methos took the sword back and put it carefully into the rack. He'd probably end up keeping it in his coat by the door, but it seemed silly not to take advantage of the nice rack. So to speak. "Only one room left."

"I think you're gonna like it." Joe led him back down the hall and across the living room to the short hallway leading to their bedroom. 

"Joe, if all it had in it was a sleeping bag, I'd still love it." Methos followed him, watching his gait to see if he was in any particular pain. It didn't look like he was, and that was good - he was about to be put through his paces.

"I think we did a little better than that." Joe opened the double doors, and Methos practically groaned with pleasure. The bed was a king, the frame not overly fussy. Another four-poster, with thicker posts, the richness of the mahogany showing through all the more because of its simplicity. It was made up with oceans of fluffy, pure white linens and a goose down duvet, with more pillows than Methos cared to count. 

There was more in the room than the bed, like a small study nook in the corner, but Methos was somewhat intensely focused on all that softness. "This is perfect, Joe." 

He turned to face Joe and cupped his face in his palm. "You are going to look so fucking beautiful splayed out on that bed, writhing with pleasure for me."

"You sure you're up for that, old man? You did just have a long flight..." Joe's teasing was broken by Methos' mouth on his. It was a possessive, claiming kiss that said 'I know you' in the most carnal of ways. Tongues twined, and Methos groaned, using his other hand to grip Joe's jacket and gently pull their bodies together. 

"Still nervous?" Methos murmured against Joe's slick lips. He didn't ask if Joe wanted to wait - the predator inside him had awakened and it was hungry. 

"Nervous, sure, but I want you inside me." Joe's voice was rough, with emotion or hunger or both. Probably both. 

"These clothes are bothersome. I think it's well past time they came off." Methos pushed the jacket off Joe's broad shoulders, then made short, efficient work of his shirt buttons. Everything discarded stayed in a pile on the floor, and Joe gripped his shoulders hard as Methos walked him back to the bed slowly before sinking down to his knees in a gesture that had so quickly become familiar.

Methos nuzzled Joe's belly as he got Joe's jeans open for the second time in an hour, gratified to find him well on the way to another erection. He looked up at Joe through his long lashes, and untied his shoes without even bothering to look down. Joe's cock was a sore temptation, and he suckled on it briefly before letting Joe settle back on the edge of the bed, more as a tease for the both of them than anything else. Methos slide Joe's jeans off, then took off the prosthetics with hands that had become practiced at the motions. 

When Joe was naked, thighs spread on the edge of the bed, Methos practically purred. Palming the scar tissue where his legs ended, he licked and bit a path up Joe's inner thighs, holding his legs apart so he could mouth the heavy balls, relishing their weight on his tongue. "You are delicious. Now I want you in the middle of the bed. Keep those legs nice and wide, hm?"

"Fuck, Methos..." Joe obeyed him with a satisfying alacrity, reaching down to stroke himself slowly. It seemed that Joe liked to be bossed around a bit, too. That was good. Very good. 

"Look at you. Stroke harder, but don't you dare come yet." Might as well try being a little more bossy and see what it got him. 

It got him a hot blush and immediate response. Joe's hand tightened around his prick, but he didn't speed up the tempo. "Take your fucking clothes off, Methos," he growled. 

Methos held his eyes and stripped down to skin with the confidence of someone who knew very well he was desired. All those expensive new clothes joined the pile on the floor, and Methos crawled sinuously up the bed to settle between Joe's thighs. He gripped a pillow and slid it under Joe's hips, spreading him out like a feast. 

Joe obviously felt the weight of that stare, the hunger of it, because he had to stop stroking. This was his Methos, but it was a side that Methos had never shown him before. If Methos was ancient beyond imagining, the creature between his legs was as alien as he was beautiful. 

"Tell me yes." Methos slid his thumbs up to stroke the tender flesh at the join of hip and thigh, dangerously close to Joe's tight little hole. 

"Yes!" Joe's hips bucked, and Methos could see the raw need writ large in every line of his beloved's body. 

"Good...Gods, I have been dying to taste you." Joe was red with embarrassment again, but it didn't stop his cock from pearling with precome and jerking in his hand. 

Methos bent down laved his tongue over crinkled flesh, listening to Joe's first soft gasp of surprise at the sensation. He grinned wolfishly and slid down just enough to get comfortable - he was going to be here awhile, after all. His thumbs gently pulled Joe open just enough for his tongue to reach all the best, most secret places. 

He wasn't about to rush this - he'd been telling the truth about fantasising performing this act on Joe. And perform he did. That clever tongue teased and rewarded, moving in slow circles, then licking at the exposed, twitching flesh. 

Joe was making the most delicious noises, and Methos ate them up. He waited patiently for the furled muscle to relax enough and then he pushed his tongue inside. Joe moaned helplessly, obviously unsure whether to rut down on his tongue or pull away from the intrusion. 

Methos pulled back a fraction and suckled at the ripe flesh, until Joe's hips were pressing down for more again. He fucked Joe with his tongue for what felt like an eternity, utterly absorbed in his beloved's heady, unformed and instinctive hunger. Dimly, Methos was aware that Joe was talking to him - begging him, more like. 

"More...more, unless you want me to come like this," Joe panted, one hand fisted into Methos hair and the other into the duvet. 

"You could come like this? My tongue thrusting into you?" Wasn't his Joseph just fucking perfect?

"Never even imagined it felt that good." All the times Joe had done this for him, and he'd had no idea how much it took him apart. Methos sat back on his heels and licked his lips, wrapping a hand around Joe's cock and stroking slowly. 

"Then imagine how much pleasure you've given me." His voice was roughened, and he leaned over Joe's wracked body to the nightstand, finding an unopened bottle of lube. "I knew you'd think of this." 

"Told you I've been fucking dying to get you inside me." Well, the nerves certainly seemed to have disappeared. 

Methos slicked his fingers well and leaned up to bite gently at Joe's nipple as he pushed one inside, so slowly. He would never hurt Joe. It was a reminder to himself as much as a promise to Joe. His cock was heavy and leaking between his thighs, and all he wanted in the world was to get in him.

Joe whimpered and clenched down hard on his finger. "Darling, shhh...just push down, hm?" When Joe complied, the muscles eased and Methos could feel him opening up. "That's it. Gods, you are so tight, so hot." So beautiful. 

Methos' firsts had been ripped away from him in violence and blood, and he'd be damned to hell if he'd let himself do that to Joe. He fucked Joe with his finger until he felt the tightness relax enough to add a second, watching Joe's face to see if there was any sign of pain. There wasn't. This was the point where he was most tempted to rush, but instead he sought Joe's sweet spot and pressed against it, taking a feral joy when Joe cried out in surprise and his cock spurted precome down onto his belly. It looked too tasty to pass up, so Methos kept up the gentle pressure and leaned in to lap up every droplet, licking up and over the red, angry-looking head of Joe's cock.

Joe wailed and swore and growled out 'move,' and Methos met his eyes and grinned. If it was a feral grin, a predatory one, he couldn't exactly help himself. Joe made him so fucking hungry. He thrust his slick fingers into Joe, making sure to touch the little gland every time. 

Eventually, Joe was loose enough for a third finger, and Methos used liberal amounts of slick to make sure it went in without a hint of burn or discomfort. There would be a moment of pain for Joe, it was almost inevitable, but he had to show Joe the reward. Prove to him that the pain was most certainly going to be worth it. 

"Fuck...Fuck, Methos, I feel so...open." Joe's words struck Methos, and Methos knew he didn't just mean physically. 

"I have you, my love. You're safe. Open up for me." All the remaining fight went out of Joe, and his hips started to move restlessly, finally meeting Methos' rhythm and fucking himself down onto the invading fingers. 

Methos looked down at Joe's hole swallowing his fingers and almost lost his hard-won control. He was just so fucking hot, and Methos was falling for it hook, line and sinker. All of the times he'd done this faded into the distance, until it was just the two of them, alone in time, two bodies and lifetimes of pain. 

"Come on, Methos. I'm ready. Please." Joe broke him out of his trance, and he rubbed at Joe's prostate one last time before withdrawing his fingers and using probably way too much lube to slick up his cock. 

Methos crawled up Joe's body and kissed him, the head of his cock pressed against the loosened entrance. "It's going to hurt, my darling, but just for a moment. Keep pushing down."

"I'm not afraid." Leave to to Joe to reassure him in this moment. 

Methos caught Joe's mouth again and rocked his hips, pushing slow and steady and swallowing Joe's gasps. Oh gods, he was truly perfection.

The promised burn didn't dissuade Joe in the slightest. After all, this was a man who lived every day with pain - it must be a relief to choose it on his own terms. 

When Methos' cock was sheathed to the hilt, he stopped, shaking with the restraint, letting Joe push down and groan and then growl with unfulfilled hunger. That was the moment he knew to start a rhythm, deep and slow, rocking Joe up with every thrust. Joe was like a vise around his prick, squeezing and opening and spasming and it was driving Methos mad. 

"Yeah, oh fuck, yeah," Joe moaned against Methos' lips. "Fuck me, Methos." 

The words were like honey in his ears, and he gave in, setting a rougher, more primal pace, angling his hips so he hit Joe's prostate. He felt Joe achingly hard where his cock was trapped between them. Snaking a hand between them, he squeezed and stroked the stiff, slick flesh. Neither of them was going to last long, and he'd never leave Joe unfulfilled and wanting. 

Joe arched up beneath him at the first stroke, rutting back and forth between Methos' cock inside him and his hand demanding Joe's orgasm. Methos's body tensed all the way to the tips of his toes and he absolutely lost it the second he felt Joe's seed, hot and thick, spurt into his fist. 

He buried himself deep and shook through his own climax, vision going grey at the edges and heart breaking and reforming around the man beneath him, surrounding him. Methos stared down at Joe, after, not daring to move and shatter this moment. 

"I love you," Joe murmured, taking Methos into his arms and holding him tight against his chest, as if he knew how broken Methos had been until this very minute. "I love you," he repeated.

"I love you," Methos managed to reply. Finally, he eased out of Joe and burrowed deeper into his arms. "I should be holding you."

"Because we're upstanding citizens who always do what we should." If Joe could still tease him, everything must be just fine. 

Methos laughed softly and kissed a line up Joe's neck to his jaw. "Are you all right, love?

"I'm so far past all right I don't even know where to start. That was...incredible. You were incredible." Joe stroked Methos' sweaty back. "And for the record, it didn't hurt. At all."

Methos gave him a dazzling, almost shy smile. "You are a wonder, and I am the luckiest creature in the world." 

"Creature...not a man, then? Or both?" Joe asked gently.

"I...suppose my days of saying that I'm just a really old guy are behind me," Methos admitted. "You never bought it anyway." 

"Nope. Never did." Joe kissed the top of Methos' head, then tipped him up to press their lips together again. 

Methos looked at him, seeing all the years ahead - the blissful ones with Joe, the desolate ones without him. He didn't want to wait another moment to make Joe understand. "I need to get something out of my bag. I'll be right back. You stay...right here." 

Joe made a protesting noise, but Methos steadfastly wobbled to his feet and went to fetch his purchase of the day before. Carrying the reassuringly heavy little velvet bag back to bed he crawled back in. Reaching inside, he gripped the objects and pulled them out, hiding them in his palm until he placed them into Joe's palm.

Two rings, matched in pure white gold and platinum. One more slender than the other, which was solid and masculine. 

"I rehearsed so many speeches on the plane, but...now they all seem ridiculous. Marry me, Joe?" Methos asked softly, his heart hammering.

Joe closed his fist slowly around the rings. "Anytime. Any place. Just soon, okay?" 

"That's a yes, just so we're clear?" Methos felt the smile spreading across his face.

"That's a yes." Joe matched his smile with one of his own. 

"Thank you. For being the man you are, and for letting me into your life." Methos put the rings back into the bag and laid it reverently on the nightstand. 

"It was more like you followed me home and I decided to keep you, but yeah. I'd do all of it over again. Happily." Joe's fond look said more than words could ever convey.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and following along!


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